


Keeper

by Xyriath



Series: Whisper What it is You Want [3]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Genie/Djinn, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Djinni & Genies, Ed-level cursing, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-23
Updated: 2015-10-23
Packaged: 2018-04-27 16:56:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5056486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xyriath/pseuds/Xyriath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Roy might have a problem.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keeper

Winry took a deep breath as quietly as she could, glancing around and trying her hardest not to look suspicious.  The stairs were right there, after all, and it was just a simple matter to cross the hall and go through them.  She was _allowed_ to and everything—after all, she worked here, didn’t she?

But then again, she _was_ one of the youngest employees at the museum—and she was also carrying a priceless, ancient artifact in her purse.

She set her shoulders and strode forward, lifting her chin and setting her shoulders.  Though a few tourists glanced up, no one paid any attention—

“Ms. Rockbell?”

She didn’t jump _quite_ a foot into the air, but for a moment, it definitely felt like she had.  She paused for a moment, trying to catch her breath at the unpleasant, startled jolt in her heart, before forcing a huge smile on her face and turning to face her boss.  “Yes, Mister Armstrong?”

“I just wanted to ensure that you haven’t forgotten about the gala this evening.  I believe we have several potential investors wanting to speak with you.”

Winry exhaled—though Alex Armstrong was a large man, intimidatingly so, something about the gentle British accent when he spoke to her always put her at ease.  “Of course, sir.  I haven’t forgotten.  I just needed to finish up some organization in storage.”

Armstrong waved her off, and she turned again, making a beeline towards the door with no further incidents.

When she closed it behind her, making sure that it was locked (yes, other staff would have a key, but at least she would have some warning before they walked in), she made her way through the practical maze of small halls and rooms until she came to a rather dusty, unused corner.

Glancing around once again and satisfied that she was alone, she finally let out her breath and reached into her purse.

The piece of metal she pulled out certainly didn’t _look_ valuable—in fact, it was quite burnished with age.  Not silver, she knew that much, but she didn’t think it was iron, either.  In fact, it seemed like _steel_ to her, but—it couldn’t be right.  Not with the dating she had done on the first piece she had discovered.

But then again, those results…

Well, they had been written off as a fluke by everyone.  But not Winry.  She had seen the symbol etched on the glove in question, a cross with a snake curled around it, a crown and a pair of wings above, and thought back to something else she remembered seeing in her endless trips to catalogue the museum’s miscellaneous items.

Winry had seen enough suits of armor to know a shoulder when she saw one.

She ran her fingertips over it almost lovingly, wondering exactly how much trouble she’d be in if she gave it a good polish.  Unsupervised restoration would give _any_ museum curator a heart attack, but it just…

It deserved better.

With a sigh, she reached out to place it on the shelf next to her other two pieces.  The first, the left glove that started it all, had been straightened to sit correctly, minus a missing index finger.

The second, a helmet with a missing jawpiece, seemed to stare back at her with forlorn red eye lenses.

She took a step back to inspect her collection.  She should have felt silly, probably, putting together old pieces of armor in the back room of the British museum, but…

But there was something special about this armor.  Somehow, she could feel it.

—

“So you can’t fix the economy, or global warming—“

“I fuckin’ told you, that money’s gotta come from somewhere.  And I can’t just change people’s brains to wanna start bikin’ all over the place.  I don’t change _people._  I could _force_ people to stop using their cars, in groups, but they’d get all pissed off because they can’t figure out why they can’t do it, which is—“

“Exactly the kind of attention I want to avoid.”

Ed shoved his hands in the pockets of his hoodie, which Roy had graciously allowed him to wear while they had left the office for lunch.  “Hey, if you can come up with a comprehensive plan for the goddamn economy that I can implement in small _chunks_ , or somethin’ for global warming, of course I can do that.”

“So you need to know specific things to alter before you can alter something.”

“When it’s that big, yeah.”  Ed shrugged.  “Smaller stuff I can generally kinda handwave around. I recommend avoiding money, though. Wish for gift cards instead of actual cash.  Because adding cash causes inflation."

"Isn't that stealing too?"

Ed shot Roy a bit of an exasperated look.  "Not from anyone who _needs_ it."

Roy debated the merits of arguing with this kid on ethics, but of _course_ the moment they rounded the corner to the café where Roy had been planning on eating lunch, he saw that the line was out the door.

He groaned and tried to ignore that smug look Ed was shooting in his direction.

A few beats, though, and he took a breath, turning to face Ed.

“So if I asked for one of their reuben sandwiches, with a side of fries?”

Ed spread his hands, smirk growing.  “Your wish is my command.”

Roy glanced around.  He _could_ go somewhere else, he knew he could, but…

But he _really_ wanted that reuben.

“Make it happen.”

“See?”  Ed chirped obnoxiously as he handed a bag to Roy.  “That wasn’t that bad.”

Roy rolled his eyes and headed over to sit at one of the little tables.  “I wish I weren’t cold.”

Ed ambled over and pulled out another chair, flopping into it in a most undignified fashion, and Roy’s exposed nose began to warm.

“I could get used to this,” he murmured, pulling out the reuben sandwich, an unhealthy amount of corned beef piled onto warm, toasted rye.  Knowing that he had a gleam in his eye that was nearly predatory, he picked up a triangular half of the sandwich, lifting to it to his mouth with a grin.

And then stopped as he saw Ed’s eyes locked onto it.

Come to think of it, though Roy had enjoyed a banana that morning for breakfast, Ed hadn’t had a single bite to eat today, unless he had eaten right before meeting Roy, which didn’t seem likely.

“Do you need to eat?” he asked, lowering the sandwich.  His stomach grumbled slightly in complaint—

But was immediately drowned out by the sound coming from Ed’s stomach louder than a damn earthquake.

“Huh, what?” Ed asked, a little jerkily, eyes flicking up dazedly.  “Oh, no, I don’t.”

Roy’s ears didn’t lie.  “But can you?  Do you get hungry?”

Ed’s eyes slid away, then back to—Roy’s sandwich.  “Yeah.”

Roy snorted, a small smile curving up his lips.  “You could have said something.  I wish for a plate of your favorite food, right here.”

Ed’s shoulders hunched further, and Roy couldn’t for the life of him figure out why.  An intoxicating aroma drifted into his nose as a cut of steak, a bowl of some kind of noodle soup, and what looked like some kind of creamy spinach appeared on a plate in front of Ed.  Roy could tell from the way Ed’s eyes went wide and his back went rigid that Roy wasn’t the only one who had smelled it.

“Well?  Eat up.”  Duty done, Roy grabbed a couple of fries, shoving them in his mouth.  Warm, crispy, and perfect.  Edward could deliver.

“I can’t.”

Roy didn’t even process the mumbled reply at first, focusing too much on sating his own hunger, but when his ears and eyes finally pieced together Ed’s words with the sight of Ed staring at the untouched steak in front of him, face white, he swallowed.

“You—you just said you can eat, though.”

Ed’s eyes darted back up to Roy’s, expression hooded and wary, body angled slightly so that one shoulder was between the two of them, hunched in a way that Roy recognized from victims of physical abuse.  The fries turned to ash in his stomach.

“You can tell me, Ed.”  Roy kept his voice gentle, as he did with those who acted similarly.

Ed’s gaze slid away again.  “I can’t eat anything I conjure up.  Or anything I buy with money I make, or gift cards.”

Roy blinked.  “Why not?”

Ed’s lips twisted bitterly.  “Fuck if I know.  Spite?  I just—I can’t.  Never have been able to.”  He licked his lips.  “Part of the original binding.”  He laughed, but there was no humor in it.

“That—that doesn’t make any sense.  The people—“

“Person,” Ed interrupted.  “It’s not—look, if you find another genie, they’re not gonna have that rule.  The people who made us, they could do that, set those rules on us.”  He exhaled.  “The guy who made me didn’t like that I was mouthy.  So he made sure I couldn’t feed myself unless he let me.”

“That…”  God, Roy wished that he could know more about _what_ had happened to Ed, not just out of curiosity, but so he could offer a sympathetic ear.  “That’s awful.  I’m sorry.”

Ed just snorted, pushing the steak towards Roy.  “Yeah, well, nothin’ I can do about it.”

“How long has it been since you’ve eaten?”

Ed let out a long, low groan.  “Thirteen years, four months, sixteen days.”  He shot Roy a glance.  “The last guy was kind of a dick.  Major dick, actually.  Actually, he was dishonorably discharged before he made major—“

Roy held up a hand to stop Ed.  He wasn’t going to let this continue to happen.  Not under his watch.

“That man in there,” he broke in, nodding through the window.  “What is he ordering?”

Ed shot Roy a confused look, but said, “Loaded baked potato with a side of clam chowder.”

From the way Ed’s eyes glazed over as he spoke it, he could see how appealing the meal seemed.

“I wish for a loaded baked potato with a side of clam chowder, packaged like the café.”

Ed turned back to Roy, the takeout box inside the plastic bag now sitting between them.  “Uh huh.  That’s three meals, Mustang, you sure you can—“

“Now that man?  Make sure they get his order wrong.”

“The hell are you planning?” Ed muttered as he slumped back into his chair.

Roy kept a sharp eye on the man inside the store, munching on fries until the man left—without checking his order.

As soon as the man walked out and turned to go, Roy stood and jogged after him, Ed’s magical bag in hand.

“Excuse me, sir!”

The man turned, blinking almost owlishly behind glasses.  “Uh, yeah?”

“What did you order?  They gave me the wrong one—it’s a baked potato and some kind of soup?”

“Hey, actually…”  The man dug for his bag, untied it, and popped it open.  “Oh, god, yeah.  Looks like stew and a salad?”

Roy pretended to let his shoulders sag in relief.  “Thank god.  Yes, that’s me.”  He offered the bag he was holding, and the other man accepted it as Roy awkwardly took the still-open takeout box in his hands.  “Thank you.”

The man gave him a bit of a harried nod before turning to walk away again.

He couldn’t resist a grin as he walked back over to his and Ed’s table, not missing the very clear look of “I’m impressed” on Ed’s face as he set the box in front of him.

“Eat up,” he chuckled, savoring the look of unfettered _joy_ on Ed’s face as he conjured a set of plastic silverware.

There was just something, Roy thought with a jolt, positively entrancing about the way Ed’s eyes _shone._

—

“So, after reviewing your case, Mr. Brooks, I think we have a solid chance.”  Roy couldn’t keep the charming smile off his face.  As far as cases went, this would be remarkably easy to solve.  The contradicting proof and unreliable witness statements would easily convince a jury—and had, in fact, convinced Roy—of the man’s innocence.  Roy had his suspicions on the neighbor being the true culprit of the property damage, but he was a defense attorney, not a district one.

“Thank you, Mr. Mustang.”  Brooks reached out to clasp Roy’s hand with a relieved grin.  “I see there’s a reason you come highly recommended.”

Roy led Brooks to the exit, where Kain stood to show him out.

That finished, he turned back to the other occupant of his office.  He was still smiling faintly; he had half-expected Ed to try to cause some sort of trouble, nothing malicious, but out of boredom.  It seemed, however, that Ed had chosen to obey his “sit still and observe” order to the letter.

As he turned to face Ed, however, his smile faded.

Ed was looking up at him, eyes fixed in place, face white.  His jaw was set, his lips in a firm line, turned down at the corners.  This couldn’t bode well.

“What did you think?” Roy asked cautiously, watching him.

Ed’s eyes flicked towards the door, then back to Roy.  “You’re gonna represent him?”

“That’s the plan.”

“Yeah, you can win his case, I get it,” Ed said through gritted teeth, voice beginning to shake.  “But what about the girlfriend he punches on?”

Roy actually took an involuntary step backwards, eyes widening.  “I—what?”

“He—he put her in the _hospital_ a few years back!” Ed snapped, voice rising, eyes going a little wild.  “He hasn’t been that violent since but that’s still not—they’re still _together_ and he still hits her when he’s drunk!”

Roy stayed very, very still for a moment, dread growing in the pit of his stomach.  A brief, wild thought flashed through his mind that this was some disgusting joke, drama Ed created for the sake of being difficult, but—no.  Not the way he had looked when Roy had offered him food, the defensive posture, with his shoulder raised.

He just nodded.  “And how do you know?”  He kept his voice calm, trying to reassure Ed that yes, he believed him, but wanted more information.

“I just—I just _do!_ ” Ed spat.  “And you’re going to defend _him?_ ”

Roy’s desk began to shake, despite neither of them being anywhere close to it.  Roy swallowed.

“You should give me something I can say to him, so we won’t.  ‘My genie told me’ is not an appropriate excuse.”  It took Roy a moment not to phrase it as an order—after lunch earlier, he wanted to allow Ed as much autonomy as he could—but it all relied on Ed listening.

Ed bristled.  “Well why don’t you wish it to be?”  The lightbulb in Roy’s lamp popped, then fizzled out.  He could relate, to be honest—though his anger didn’t manifest the way Ed’s did, the knowledge that he had just spoken with—just shaken the _hand_ of a man like that made his skin crawl.

“That seems a lot more involved than just asking you to tell me.”  Roy sighed.  “Give me a believable reason that you would know.”

Ed scowled and glanced around, but an order was an order.  “I went out with her sister.  She’s worried about her.”

Not the most comprehensive wording, but it would do.

“Good.”  Roy nodded, glancing over at the desk, a cold determination settling in his chest.  “I’ll call him.   _Provided_ that the sister remember dating a blond.  I also wish that this woman gets away safely." pauses, thinks, "I also wish that he never gets another date, and never dates anyone again."

He could visibly see Ed relax, and the desk slowly settled back to being stationary.  Ed lifted his chin, eyes gleaming, their stare a thousand miles away.  “Perfect.”

Roy had a sudden moment of uncertainty.  “Don’t kill him.  I don’t want anyone to die.”

Ed froze, and for a moment, Roy worried that he would lose his temper again, and wasn’t sure what kind of property would suffer because of it.  But he just turned his gaze towards him, a look of begrudging respect in his eye.

“Thanks.”

—

Buying Ed a twenty count box of chicken McNuggets seemed to be the deciding step in winning him over.

"Holy _shit!_ ”

Roy didn’t have the heart to tell him not to talk with his mouth full, not with the delight in his voice and the pleasure on his face.

“Oh my god, Roy,” Ed continued around a mouthful of chicken.  “You need to have one of these.  Have you ever had one of these?”

Roy did his best to cover his laughter with a cough.  “I have had chicken nuggets before, yes.”

“God _damn!_ ”  Ed stuck another in his mouth, and Roy rolled his eyes, though he couldn’t help smiling.  “They’ve made them _way_ better’n they used to be.”

“Thirteen years, you said?” Roy asked, trying to keep his tone casual.  It _seemed_ like Ed was allowed to talk about previous… masters (he still felt uncomfortable, thinking the word), but the question here was, would he?

“Yeah.”  Ed finished his chewing and swallowed before speaking this time; thank goodness for small mercies.  “He was a total asshole.  Really reveled in having control over me and in the shit he could make me do.”  Ed scowled down at the nuggets, as if debating whether or not the thought made him too sick to eat, but the dilemma only seemed to cost him a few moments.  Another nugget went to its demise between Ed’s teeth.

“I’m glad he’s in jail now,” Ed muttered.

 _That_ had Roy’s eyebrows shooting up.  “ _Jail?_  For what?”

Ed’s chewing stilled again, and a serious expression flickered across his face.

“Serial murder,” he snapped, in a tone that made it very, _very_ clear that he no longer wanted to have this discussion.

Still—

“Did you have anything to do with his imprisonment?” Roy asked quietly.

Ed scoffed as he counted his remaining pieces of chicken.  “Of fucking course.”

Roy allowed himself a small smile as he continued driving.

Ed glanced up, feast finally finished, when they stopped in front of the convenience store.  “What’s all this?”

Roy drummed his fingers against the steering wheel, tapping a tattoo with his right ring finger, considering, then…

“Tell me the winning lottery numbers for tomorrow’s drawing.”

Ed rolled his eyes so hard that for a moment, Roy worried that they would pop out of his head.

—

“So, whose mailbox was that _even_ , though?” Ed asked, seemingly unable to keep from gaping at Roy as he pulled into the driveway.  “You get a winning ticket for a two hundred million dollar _jackpot_ and you just… give it away?  Do you even know whose _house_ that was?”

“Of course I know whose house it was,” Roy sighs, debating wishing for Ed to forget the entire incident.  “As for who it was, let’s just say that it was a promise I made a long time ago to someone important, to take care of someone important to _him._  And the only way I can keep it without being refused is to help anonymously.”

Ed made a satisfied noise.  “Y’know what?  It takes a lot to surprise me, Mustang, but I think you might have gotten there.”

“You flatter me,” Roy drawled as he shut off the car.  “Will you refill the tank for me?”

At Ed’s look, he sighed.  “What?  You _can_ do it without an order.”

“Yeah, but _will_ I.”

Roy bit his tongue on the words, ‘I’m _trying_ to give you a choice.’  Today had been far too long to start this now.  “Fill up the tank.”

Ed said nothing, but Roy had to assume that it was finished and he had done a small part into contributing to the environment—actually, on that note.

“And make sure that this car doesn’t produce any harmful emissions.  Make that the whole neighborhood’s cars, actually.”  Maybe he _could_ do something about this global warming problem.  He would, however, have to test Ed’s range later.

It seemed slightly surreal that after everything, Ed _still_ hadn’t seen the inside of his house.  Had it really only been this morning that Ed had turned up on his driveway?

He tried not to feel self-conscious as he unlocked the door and walked inside.  Ed had spent the last ten years locked away inside god knows what; as far as "life together" went, Roy was clearly on top here.

Still, the glance Ed gave the dishes piled in the sink, then the tangled TV cords left in a pile after Roy had given up arranging them last week, then the basket full of (clean!) socks and underwear sitting next to the couch, had Roy bristling a little defensively.

The silence stretched on for a couple minutes, until finally—

"You know you wanna ask, so go ahead."

Roy sighed.  "Fine.  Will you please tidy up?"  Nothing moved, and Roy closed his eyes.  "Tidy up."

The dishes rattled as they hovered over the garbage can, dried bits of food flaking off until they shone, the cupboards opening to allow them to settle inside.  At the same time, the laundry began to fold itself, floating up the stairs.  Roy followed it with some trepidation to see it settling inside his open drawer as his bedsheets straightened and made itself.

"Livin' like a fuckin' king, aren't you?"

Roy didn't even turn at the drawling noise behind him, simply shook his head, wondering surreally when his life had turned into a Harry Potter movie.

"Okay, that's it, then."  Ed yawned, and Roy could hear the noises of unspecified joints popping in the background.  "What about dinner?  I'm fuckin' _starved._ "

Roy made a scoffing sound of disbelief, but went downstairs to cook something up.

He soon learned that instant ramen was another way to win his way into Ed's heart (or stomach, which Roy was beginning to think were the same thing), which was good news for his budget.  He _also_ learned that, when he wasn't being a complete shit, Ed could actually be incredibly entertaining.  Watching the progression of facial expressions as Ed took in the size of Roy's TV, was told that House, M.D. had ended, and then learned that he could binge watch the entire thing on Netflix, was a work of art in itself.

After the crushed expression on Ed's face at the second piece of news, though, he didn't have the heart to tell him how disappointing the later seasons were.  Let him live in hope for a little longer, and all that.

At Ed's pleading look, he decided that an evening of Netflix as he perused through paperwork probably wasn't a bad thing.  He found himself distracted, however, watching Ed instead.  As far as entertainment went, the unabashed emotional reactions were far better than television.

He was interested to see that Ed _could_ , in fact, get sleepy, too, given the way he was yawning four episodes in.

"Has it been thirteen years since you slept, too?" Roy asked with a quiet laugh, his lips curling slowly into a soft smile as Ed slowly blinked those golden eyes at him.

"Ten."  Ed's yawn nearly covered the word.  "When you're in... when you're trapped like that, you don't really get to sleep.  You just kinda... be."  He huffed softly.  " _Fuck_ I'm glad to be out."

"Time for bed, then."  At Ed's outraged look, Roy just shrugged.  "House rules.  You're tired, you sleep.  Come on upstairs."

Ed followed with a sigh, but without protest.  When they reached the entrance to Roy's bedroom, he hesitated.

"So, what kinds of sleeping arrangements do you want?  I've got a spare room, and you can make yourself a comfortable bed."

Ed just shrugged, eyes sliding away from Roy's.  Now, they couldn't have that.

"Tell me what it is you want, Ed," Roy continued lightly.

Ed's mouth immediately opened.  "It's been fuckin' _forever_ since I had any kind of human contact, let alone from a decent human being, and you're nice and not a massive asshole so I wanna sleep with you."  He choked off, face going red with embarrassment at Roy's surprised expression.  "Not like that, you jerk!  Fuck, we just met!"

Roy lifted his hands placatingly.  "I didn't say anything.  Get ready for bed and we can do that."

Ed froze, eyes wide, mouth open as if to deliver another insult, but too surprised at Roy's response to continue.  "I—really?"

"Really."  Roy smiled softly.  In fact, the surprising confession from the usually prickly Ed had no small amount of charm.  "Go ahead, get ready.  I'll step inside and change."

As he closed the door, he figured that his usual sleeping shirtless plan might be a bit much, so he chose an old Harvard t-shirt and pulled it on along with a pair of sweatpants.  When he went back to open his bedroom door, he was greeted by one of the best sights he had seen all day.

Ed's hair was down, spilling across his shoulders, and it was longer than Roy had initially thought.  His expression was somewhere between scowling and sleepy, and Roy wasn't sure he had ever seen anything more adorable—until his eyes swept even lower to see that Ed was wearing pale blue pajamas printed with ducks and test tubes.

"I didn’t know genies were fond of science, all things considered."  He waggled his fingers to intimate magical abilities.  The effort of keeping the laughter—or the exclamation of Ed's adorableness—out of his voice left his words with a very strained tone.  It wasn't a _bad_ thing by any means; in fact, Roy definitely considered it a reward for today.  He just didn't think that Ed would appreciate his internal commentary.

"Fuck yeah!"  Ed's grin was even wilder when he was tired, apparently.  "Watching the way it progresses over the years?  Fuckin' _amazing._  Next time I'm not busy, I'm gonna start reading like nobody's business.  Can't wait to see what you've got done."

"And the ducks?" Roy asked, voice much more neutral this time.

"Crazy motherfuckers.  They'll go after you no matter how big they are.  I love 'em."

"Of course."  He had to turn quickly towards the bed before Ed could see the grin on his face.

He had worried briefly that it would be awkward, but the comfort with which Ed hopped into the bed after him and promptly burrowed into his arms left no doubt that Ed was used to this, and Roy wrapped his arms around him, pulling him in closer.

In truth, Ed wasn't the only one who had gone a long time without much physical contact, and the way that he was now burying his face in Roy's chest left him surprisingly content.

"Turn the lights off, please," Roy murmured, Ed's sleepiness infecting him as well.  As they dimmed, Roy closed his eyes, a smile curving up his lips as he felt Ed's breathing slow in his arms.


End file.
